This week we’re continuing to explore the power of last year’s ACT Retreat on Zanzibar. As it turned out the retreat offered me far more than I could have imagined, and it provided connection in a most unexpected way.

So dive in and, as always, I’d love to hear if and how this account resonates with you by email or social media, where you can find me @dr.darrah on Instagram.

-Dr. Darrah

Someone wise once told me it is in moments of pain that we have the greatest opportunity to connect with others. I remember thinking at the time this offered scant comfort – it wasn’t until years later when I was halfway around the world and 100ft underwater that I truly understood.

In January of 2024, I went to Zanzibar to co-lead an ACT retreat with my friend and colleague Robyn Walser. The retreat organizer, Morten Hedegaard, had told me about the fantastic scuba diving there, and this convinced me to learn to dive – something that had been on my bucket list for decades.

My main reason for learning to dive though, was that my older brother Dave was a diver, and I thought our shared interest would be a great way to spend meaningful time together. I began a certification course, rushing to complete the course materials and required pool dives before our retreat. One night, while taking a diving test online, Dave suddenly came to mind and I took a moment to text him, “Do you do safety stops every time you ascend when diving?”

That might seem a strange thing to text someone. Making safety stops on your way up from a drive is about as basic as it gets, like fastening your seatbelt when you drive. There were a couple of reasons I sent that text to Dave. Most simply, it was a way to express that I loved him; “You’re careful when diving, right?’ was akin to telling someone to “travel safe.” As in, “I love you; have safe passage.” It was also baiting a hook, as Dave never missed an opportunity to be silly and I waited to see what he would do with such a random question.

Surprisingly, he did not respond.

Maybe an hour later I received a phone call from my sister-in-law who could barely speak; Dave had died, felled (we later learned) from a double pulmonary embolism. She shared how he had suddenly complained that he couldn’t breathe before collapsing, and how the paramedics had worked in vain to save him. It wasn’t until late that night as I cried in my husband’s arms, that I realized Dave was dying in the moments I sent that text.

I hope he had safe passage.

I almost didn’t go to the 2024 Zanzibar retreat, and I nearly abandoned the scuba diving certification, but with the encouragement of friends and family I did both. And that is how I found myself undersea, stunned by the mystery and beauty of the world beneath the ocean’s surface.

In the pocket of my wetsuit was a rock taken from Dave’s property, land that held the beautiful home he had built with his own hands. This small rock had traveled from Oklahoma, to Colorado and then to Zanzibar, where I intended to place it in the sea to honor my brother and his love of diving. I was with a small group of retreat participants from all over the world – Denmark, Germany, Spain – and our Zanzibari guide, DeDe.

I didn’t want to impose my agenda on the group, but I knew they might become concerned if they saw me fumbling with something during the dive. So I simply mentioned that I had brought a rock to honor my brother who had died, and that I would be placing it somewhere along our way.

And that is when I began to experience the gift of connection. I saw Morten whisper something to DeDe, and understood he had told DeDe to find me a special place for my rock. As we sank deep into the sea, I felt the gentle awareness of the other divers as they made room for me, swimming nearby but not too close, subtly watching me and carefully matching my pace. I took my time, trusting I would know the place. Just after my first sighting of an octopus, I saw a small spot on the sandy ocean floor, protected on 3 sides by a beautiful reef.

The group stopped and waited for me while I nestled the rock in the sand and simply rested there, rising and falling in the current and allowing myself to open fully to my love and grief. I felt the support of my group, currents of compassion flowing around me as real as the currents of the sea.

As I swam away – discovering it is possible to breathe while crying in a scuba mask – I wondered what was moving me more; the loss of Dave, or the total understanding and support I felt from my group. I marveled at the universality of the experience of love and loss, and at the healing power of connecting in that vulnerable space.

Being understood, fully and compassionately, is exactly what we need and exactly what we can offer in times of pain. Opening to pain, whether our own or others, opens a path to that connection.

What a gift I discovered in the Zanzibari sea! That gift is one that will stay with me forever.